


Swept Away

by chucks_prophet



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Carla Knows, Coda, Cute Ending, Disturbing Themes, Heavy Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Some Humor, but nothing graphic, s03e02 Sink or Swim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 22:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20973893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Buck snatches the card and starts swimming again. Except it’s like he’s in a cartoon. He’s frantic, but his limbs aren’t moving. He tries yelling Christopher’s name, but something invisible crushes his windpipe. Water floods into his lungs. He chokes. He would grasp his throat, but he has no arms.Or legs. Scratch that—he has one leg, but it’s casted. He tries kicking it to move, but it only anchors him to the ocean floor. He sinks.





	Swept Away

**Author's Note:**

> So.... I've been gone a hot minute.
> 
> I promise I haven't forgot about anyone. I've thought about ao3 every single day since August. In fact, most of you reading this are probably not my usual readers, as this is my first 9-1-1 fic. Soooo... hello! Basically, 9-1-1 pulled me from my Supernatural slump. Maybe I'll get back into Supernatural fic again soon. 
> 
> But for now, enjoy this coda. <3

It’s the first thing Buck feels.

Not the lack of oxygen. Not the saltwater in his eyes, or the weightlessness of his body. Not even the bruises decorating his body from one too many spin cycles on the tsunami’s high setting.

No. It’s something that hits a little closer to his description of emergency.

Ignoring the desperate thrash of his heart, he swims towards something in the distance. As he draws nearer, he reaches out and grabs it.

It’s Christopher’s bear, the one they won at the carnival from the water gun game, looking more like a Rottweiler’s chew toy. That’s when he notices something tucked inside the tousled stuffing. Buck tears into it, prying the cotton apart with both hands and finds…

A card. The lettering’s bleeding like an ill-attempt at watercolor but Buck knows exactly what it is.

_“Thanks, buddy.”_

A scream pierces through the water. It’s muffled, but it’s loud. Desperate. “Buck!”

Buck snatches the card and starts swimming again. Except it’s like he’s in a cartoon. He’s frantic, but his limbs aren’t moving. He tries yelling Christopher’s name, but something invisible crushes his windpipe. Water floods into his lungs. He chokes. He would grasp his throat, but he has no arms.

Or legs. Scratch that—he has one leg, but it’s casted. He tries kicking it to move, but it only anchors him to the ocean floor. He sinks.

The last thing he hears before he losing consciousness is Christopher saying “_You’re gonna be okay, kid.”_

Buck flies awake, gasping for air. He snaps his head to his arms. Flips them over a few times to make sure they’re there. Pulls his sheets over him. His legs are too.

With another exasperating breath, he collapses back onto his bed. Glancing over at his nightstand, he finds the photo of him and Christopher out to breakfast a few days ago. It’s a happy memory but he finds it difficult to smile.

He plots to the kitchen and unscrews a half-empty bottle of Jack. Normally on mornings like these, he wouldn’t step two feet from his bed. But this morning calls for a shot of whiskey.

It stings going down, but it’s easier to swallow than anything else right now.

“You’ve gotta stop drinking on Ireland time.”

Buck jumps. He doesn’t turn around, but he does grip the countertop for support. “I’ve really gotta change the locks on this place.”

“That’s it?” he says. “You just gonna send me off with a smartass remark?”

“That’s not what this is about,” Buck grits through his teeth. “It’s not about Abby.”

“I know.”

Buck laughs dryer than the drink in his hand. “Of course you do. What, did you come to tell me I screwed up taking him to the pier? I know I screwed up.”

“Buck.”

“I don’t even know what I was thinking bringing him there. Most kids wanna go to arcades or bowling alleys.”

“Buck—”

“You shouldn’t have left me with him.” Buck’s voice shakes like the ground beneath them that had done the same not too long ago. “I’m not a good babysitter.”

“Is that what you think you are to him?” Eddie asks, clearly offended by the part of his mouth and the reunion of his eyebrows. “A babysitter?”

Buck sighs and turns around. “Where is he?”

“With Carla. He misses you.”

Buck almost prefers drowning to the stinging tears behind his eyes. “He’ll get over me,” he says, eyes falling on the emblem emblazoned on Eddie’s shirt. He still has his LAFD shirt somewhere. Probably underneath the mountains of clothes by his bed. “Everyone does.”

“Buck, you saved his life.”

“Barely,” Buck scoffs, “I scarred that kid for life. I put him through a trauma _no one_ should have to endure—all for what? So I could be a hero?”

“So you could do your _job_,” Eddie sterns, taking a step closer. “Chris knows that. And how could you have possibly predicted a tsunami?”

“Because everyone who gets close to me gets—”

“Gets what, Buck?” Eddie fires back, daring another step closer. There’s a fire alight in his hazel eyes that not even Buck’s nightmares can put out. “Hurt? Dead?”

“Gone.”

Shaking his head, Eddie takes one last step towards Buck. A year ago, Buck would’ve taken their proximity as a challenge. Now, the only challenge Buck sees is having the restraint not to close the small gap between them. “Not me.”

Buck stares at Eddie with the same intensity, looking—_hoping—_for any waver. Any sign that Eddie will take back those words. It’ll be easier on both of them. Eddie will go back with Chris and Buck will crawl back into bed and remember this as part of his whiskey-infused nightmares.

Problem is, Eddie stays where he is.

“You know what Chris told me? He said he wants to be a firefighter when he grows up like his two dads. And that’s huge because astronauts make _bank._ He’s willing to give up supporting his dad into old age to chase after burning buildings.”

“He told me that on the pier.” Buck smiles fondly and it feels like the sunset that was coming into view over the park the same day. “I don’t remember him mentioning anything about me being his second dad, though.”

Eddie nods. “That’s because I’m asking you now.”

“Mmm,” Buck hums appreciatively, finally closing the space between them to wrap his arms around Eddie’s waist, “I don’t think you’ve had to ask.”

Eddie’s smile’s so wide, it calls for a trained fireman to extinguish.

Luckily Buck’s the man for the job.

Just then, an excited squeal emerges from behind Buck and wraps its little arms around him. “Buck!”

Buck breaks away from Eddie with a small chuckle to scoop up Chris. “Hey, buddy. So I take it you _weren’t _with Aunt Carla today,” he says, narrowing his eyes at a sly, shrugging Eddie.

“I think she got sick,” Christopher says, “something about a UST.”

Eddie and Buck both have to hold back their laughter.

“Oh. Right. Wait right here, little dude.”

Buck sets Christopher down and climbs back up the stairs. Making his way to his bed, he grabs a pair of glasses with a bright red strap cord from his dresser drawer. It’s placed carefully on top of a card drawn with markers that spells out Buck’s name.

When he returns, Buck slips the glasses over Chris’s beaming face. “Better?”

“Much better,” Chris affirms with a confident thumbs up.

And Buck has to admit, when he looks back at Eddie smiling again, he sees things a little clearer too.


End file.
